


Breathless

by adverbally



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Drowning, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MFMMwhumptober, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adverbally/pseuds/adverbally
Summary: Phryne Fisher didnotgive up, she reminded herself as her fingernails scrabbled at the edge of the barrel in search of leverage. Even as her vision began to dim and splinters dug their way into her palms and her movements grew more sluggish without oxygen to fuel them, she continued to struggle against her attacker, hoping against all hope that this wouldn’t be the last fight of her life.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been a hot minute since I've posted a fic, but obviously I couldn't miss out on the opportunity to torture fictional characters. I do want to include an extra warning for a fairly graphic description of (near) drowning for anyone who might be sensitive to that. I'm tempted to add a smutty sequel chapter to make sure you can all recover from the serious whump. 
> 
> Thanks to inzannatea for the title (and to everyone else for their great suggestions)!

If the pair of hands shoving her forward hadn’t already pushed the air out of Phryne’s lungs, the shock of the freezing water enveloping her head would have. 

Part of her was absently impressed by the resourcefulness of the dockworker who had just forced her headfirst into a barrel full of rainwater. His hand-to-hand combat hadn’t done much— his bulk made him too slow to react to her quick jabs, though the few hits he had landed had the full momentum of his large body behind them. It was that momentum that had spun Phryne off balance, leaving her vulnerable to the hit from behind. Unfortunately, her opponent had taken full advantage of that moment of weakness. 

Phryne blinked hard, her eyes stinging with the cold and the grime of the water. Closing them felt like surrender, but she needed to think of an exit strategy. Jack and Hugh were on their way with no telling when they would arrive. She had already been under for at least 30 seconds and her lungs were already beginning to feel tight. Despite Phryne’s talent for holding her breath, she hadn’t exactly been given the chance to inhale before going underwater. 

She tried to raise her head but her position, hunched over the barrel, didn’t give her much leverage against the meaty hands holding her down. Her struggle must have made him more cautious, as Phryne soon felt the rest of his body pressing up against hers to keep her from moving. She kicked out but his legs bracketed hers securely. She tried to claw at his face or his arms but she couldn’t reach. 

She was trapped. 

That was what made the sour taste of panic rise in her throat, what made her strain a little more desperately against her attacker. She had spent so much of her life doing everything she could to make sure she would never feel this way again. Phryne felt the phantom sting of her father’s hands, relived the warmth of René pressing up against her in the chill evening air, and felt a new surge of energy within herself. She had been helpless before and she couldn’t let it happen again. 

_Not like this_ , she told herself fiercely. 

The wooden edge of the barrel digging into her ribs only compounded the burn of her lungs. She reflexively opened her mouth to try to release the pressure in her chest but there was no relief, just the slimy, salty taste of standing water. Surely it had been over a minute by now, but it was getting harder to be sure of anything when her thoughts couldn’t quite focus. 

Phryne kicked harder, aimed higher, twisted more violently to hit any part of this brute she could reach, but he was twice her size and three times as heavy. Her gun had been knocked out her hand, though the lack of bullets wouldn’t have helped her much anyway, and the angle of her body stretched the dagger in her garter out of reach. It was no use, and the knowledge brought desperate tears to her burning eyes. 

Despite her best efforts, she choked, swallowing the brackish water as she fought to keep it out of her lungs. Phryne Fisher did _not_ give up, she reminded herself as her fingernails scrabbled at the edge of the barrel in search of leverage. Even as her vision began to dim and splinters dug their way into her palms and her movements grew more sluggish without oxygen to fuel them, she continued to struggle against her attacker, hoping against all hope that this wouldn’t be the last fight of her life. 

Just when she thought she might have to accept her horrible fate, a weight slammed into Phryne’s side, knocking the dockworker off her back and sending her crashing onto the cold cobblestoned ground of the alley on her hands and knees. 

She was barely aware of the scuffle that broke out behind her as she took her first breath, a great gasping thing that filled her lungs fit to bursting and left her dizzy with the rush of oxygen. Her relief was short-lived when she immediately began to cough. Phryne doubled over, heaving as the sour water she had swallowed came back up. She was still sputtering and choking when a warm hand on her shoulder caused her to startle. 

“Shh, Phryne, it’s just me.” 

Somehow the rumble of Jack’s voice in her ear was the thing that threatened to push Phryne over the edge. Only now, with Jack there to keep her safe, did she fully realize how close she had come to never hearing that voice again. Her lip began to tremble with something other than the cold that had settled over her, though she was able to keep any tears from mixing with the wetness already coating her cheeks. 

Her ever-observant Inspector carefully didn’t say anything. Instead, he waited for her to spit the last strings of bile onto the pavement and helped her lurch to her feet. 

His pity was too much, squeezing at Phryne’s chest like she was drowning again. She pulled away, wrapping her arms around her middle as she began to shiver, and tried not to think about the freezing water still dripping onto her shoulders. “You caught him?” she rasped, then winced at the way the words clawed at her raw throat. 

“Collins is taking him back to the station now,” Jack confirmed, “and I will be taking _you_ to see a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she protested with none of her usual confidence. 

His unimpressed eyebrow told her exactly how much he didn’t believe her, but Jack didn’t argue. Instead, he shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders, carefully tugging the lapels together at her front. His hands hovered there for a moment, smoothing across her collarbones in a move so casually intimate that she shuddered again, before he dropped them with a sigh. 

“I know you’re fine,” he said in the low, measured tone he reserved for delicate cases. “But I would feel much better if you at least let Dr. MacMillan look you over. Please.”

Phryne wanted to fall apart all over again at the way his stormy eyes couldn’t quite meet hers, darting up and down her body in search of some injury he might have missed. She had scared him, maybe even as much as she had scared herself. The knowledge formed a pit in her belly. 

“Jack, I’m sorry.” Any excuse she might have made— that she didn’t have to time to wait for backup, that none of them had known how deeply connected their suspect was around the docks— stuck in her throat. “I shouldn’t have—“ 

Jack was already reaching for her as her face crumpled, pulling her into his arms and tucking her against his chest. The warmth of his body was shocking compared to the cold that seemed to have settled into Phryne’s bones; it made it all too easy to melt against him and let go of the tension and fear of the evening. 

To her surprise, she didn’t cry, though the burning that lingered in her eyes and chest made her want to. Instead, she leaned against him, her forehead pressing into the place where his neck met his shoulder, and tried to remember how to breathe. While she hadn’t been underwater for very long, the regular expansion and contraction of her lungs still seemed foreign to her. She was grateful for the steady pace of Jack’s own breaths and the movement of his chest against her, reminding her how the process went. 

Jack broke the rhythm with a heavy sigh, turning his head to press his lips to Phryne’s wet hair. “That was too close,” he said, tightening his hold on her as if to reassure himself that she was still there. “When we pulled up, I thought…”

Phryne trembled again when he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought out loud. It was bad enough that he had barely arrived in time, but the image of Jack having to pull her lifeless body from the barrel made her blood run cold. “Me too,” she whispered. It was a gross understatement, but she squeezed him back to make sure he understood. “I’m glad you were here.”

“Always,” Jack promised.

The promise took Phryne’s breath away all over again. She wondered if she would ever cease to be awed by Jack’s constant steadiness. For now, she was content with his arms around her, reminding her of what it was like to be secure and warm and _alive_. She stood there with him until a strong gust of wind brought with it a chill that made Phryne shake with the cold. She felt the loss of Jack’s warmth acutely when he stepped away, though his hand lingered at the small of her back to keep her close. 

“Let me take you home?” Jack asked, turning them both toward the entrance of the alley where the Hispano was parked.

“Please. I may need help getting out of this wet blouse.” Between the hoarseness of her voice and the lingering exhaustion from her ordeal, the tease lacked Phryne’s usual aplomb, but the twinkle in Jack’s eye reassured her that it hadn’t completely fallen flat. 

Phryne pulled Jack’s coat more tightly around her and tried to keep her head down as they walked away. She was sure that thoughts of the vile water in its barrel, the cobblestones of the alley, and a pair of rough hands holding her down would play a prominent role in her dreams for the foreseeable future, and she wouldn’t need another glimpse to solidify those images. 

In the meantime, the earthy scent of cologne lingering on Jack’s coat, the gentle touch of his hand at her back, and the promise of a stiff drink back in the warmth of Wardlow seemed like they could ward off the inevitable nightmares, at least for tonight. Phryne Fisher would be back to normal before she knew it.


End file.
